Shakespeare is Gender Confused
by Tamer Lorika
Summary: A record of the first time that Toris met a very convincing girl, and how he found out that he was sadly mistaken as to her gender. And how he figured out it really didn't matter. Not a Genben.
1. Chapter 1

**I assure you, this is NOT a genderbend. Feliks is NOT a girl. (Everyone just thinks he is...)**

* * *

><p>Toris Lorinaitis knew, from the first time he stepped foot in the Moonshine theatre, that there was going to be trouble.<p>

He had overslept, of course, that morning – it happened to everyone, once in awhile. Though he didn't end up being late for the lecture on particle physics he _did_ have to skip breakfast and for some reason, the day just went downhill from there. Right after physics, he had to hop on his bike and pedal like a madman towards the other end of campus for his Russian literature class, and didn't get to eat lunch until almost two o'clock in the afternoon. He had forgotten to eat dinner the night before, as well, as he'd been working on a paper for said cursed Russian Lit class, so this would have been his first meal in… oh, over twenty-four hours. He was a college student; he could handle it. It just made him significantly more irritated.

By the time he skidded towards the bike racks, though, it was almost 2:30. He had exactly one hour to eat before he had to be at the theatre. He'd be alright.

Then he saw his bike. He stood, frozen, unable to believe what was going on.

"Um, _excuse_ me, but you're totally blocking the bike racks," came an impatient voice from beside him. Toris barely flinched, not even looking. The person beside him tapped a foot, impatiently. "I said, _excuse_ me…oh. God. Is that your bike?"

"It _was_," Toris moaned.

Actually, the bike was no longer there. He had been in such a hurry that he'd only looped the chain through the front wheel, not the whole frame. While he was gone, someone had carefully unbolted that front wheel and carried off the rest of the bike. And took the tire. All that was left was the rusty, slightly bent aluminum wheel frame.

"Man, that's totally not even _cool_!" muttered the girl next to him. Toris turned to look at her with baleful eyes.

"You can say that again," he muttered.

She was a pretty little thing, slim and cute, with a messy blonde bob and an orange and blue sundress. It looked like it might have been a bit awkward to ride a bike in, but there she was, walking some hot-pink beach cruiser and staring at what remained of Toris' only transportation.

"Man, that's totally not even cool…" she repeated dutifully.

"Oh god, I'm so screwed…" Toris murmured, half to himself. "I have to… I have to be at the theatre by 3:30, and it's down on Main and First. That's almost… two miles." He shook his head. "If I start walking now, maybe…"

The girl frowned a little. "Hey, not to be rude, but, you're, like, talking about the Moonshine Theatre, for Midsummer practice?" she asked.

Toris nodded. "Yeah. It's my first day as stage manager, and they're paying me, too… oh man I'm so screwed…"

The girl only laughed. "No you're not! I have to be over there, too! You can ride on my handlebars!"

"…Huh?"

The girl held out a perfectly manicured hand, palm-down, as if she wanted him to kiss it. Toris abstained, but did shake it politely. "I'm Felicia Łukasiewicz. And I believe that I just saved your butt." She smiled angelically.

"Toris. Lorinaitis."

Felicia made a face. "What now? 'Lorinaitis'? That has gotta be the longest, most confusing last name I've ever heard."

"Umm… it's Lithuanian… and besides, yours is pretty difficult, too," Toris pointed out.

"Is not! It's perfect. Huh – Lithuanian – Litwa!" she exclaimed.

"Lietuva…" Toris corrected her, thinking she was speaking _his _language. Then, realizing what she meant, arched an eyebrow. "You speak Polish?"

"No duh," she replied. "Majoring in international relations – concentration in Eastern Europe. So, ya know, kinda _have_ to know some languages. So, _Lietuva_," she teased. "Come on – I'm totally starving and I wanna eat before practice. Let's go."

Toris just nodded dumbly and followed her into the dining hall. It never occurred to him to ask just how he had gotten from a broken bike to getting a nickname from a cute girl. He figured it didn't really matter. Things just tended to happen to him. Usually, though, they weren't so dizzyingly positive.

Felicia had a nice laugh. He noticed that right away. She laughed in a way that made her seem like it was her against the rest of the world – all brash and brass and confident. Her millions of copper bracelets jangled as she talked and she had the greenest green eyes that Toris had ever seen. In a space of a single hour Toris realized that he liked her, very, very much.

Then he looked down at his watch. 3:28 pm.

He didn't say a word. His mouth just fell open and he felt his heart sink like a stone to the bottom of his stomach. Shit. He. Was. Screwed.

"Hey – Hey Lietuva. Liet. Dude. What's going on?" asked Felicia, waving a jingling hand in front of his face. "You look like someone just, like, died."

Toris had been on the phone with the director of the play, yesterday, in fact. Ms. Hedervary – though she insisted on being called "Lizzie" – had impressed one very important fact into his brain: _Early is on time, on time is late, and late is unacceptable._

"We're late…" he managed to spit out. Oh god, he'd be fired immediately; what kind of stage manager was late, ever? That was his entire job – to be there on time and make sure everyone else was, too. Ms. Hedervary would fire him, immediately, that was certain. He had just lost his job –

"Aww, man, not again…" Felicia moaned, smacking her forehead. "I guess we gotta go quick. And I had just gotten Lizzie to let me have a lead, too." She jumped to her feet, grabbing Toris' hand. "Well, come on, we don't have all day!"

Toris grabbed her hand – who was he, to refuse a cute girl's perfectly-manicured hand? – but he argued as he ran.

"Its no use – I can't go; I can't just slink in there however-the-heck-late we are and expect people to be alright with it –" Felicia pointed to her handlebars and he stared back at her. She pointed again, stamping a foot and waiting, crossing her arms and pouting her lips. He climbed onto the hot-pink beach cruiser's handlebars. Today could really _not_ get any worse could it?

Twenty minutes of horribly-paved roads and shuddering laments about how his life was ruined _later_, Felicia ground the bike to a halt in front of a mildly unimpressive building that was distinguished from the surrounding warehouses and storage rooms only by a half-hearted marquee that proclaimed: "Auditins Nw Clsed!"

Felicia caught his look. "Some oh-so-funny bastard stole all our o's. Zeroes, too. Now shut your mouth and get inside."

"B-but…"

"Geez, you really are a worry-wart, aren't you? Kid, you need someone to calm you down."

"I take medicine for that…" muttered Toris.

"God, you're adorable," Felicia announced, shaking her head in disbelief. Toris was about to ask what in the world she was thinking but he didn't have much of a chance when he felt strawberry-scented lips press firmly against his own. He was too dazed to say a word when she broke off the kiss, and allowed himself to be led inside.

* * *

><p>The inside of the theatre was absolute chaos. Toris couldn't take all of it in at once – there was just… so … <em>much. <em>

A half-finished set stood illuminated on the stage, on which two blonde men were hammering what looked to be huge, hairy branches dripping colored garlands of leaves. Beneath the brawny blonde stagehand with impressive side-burns, a brunette young man was rolling in and out of the grotto beneath the set piece, giggling delightedly and yelling something about a siesta. Three men with varying accents (one was American, but the other two sounded British and … French?) were arguing loudly about food or language or idiocy at the foot of the apron. A few Asians were clustered in a corner, two girls, two young males, and one that Toris was not sure about – the androgynous one was currently being pulled away from the group by a very large Slavic man with a scarf to "practice their scene". An unidentified someone was sprawled on top of a set rock, conked out asleep.

At that moment, a man with striking white hair came absolutely _screeching_ out of the stage left wing, chased by a young woman with a large frying pan in her hand. Ah, _that_ would be Elizaveta. Toris fervently hoped that the pan was a prop – er. No. No, it wasn't. She smacked the white-haired man and he went _down_, crumpled in unconsciousness.

"Hey, Lizzie!" Felicia called up to her. "Sorry I'm late – bike got a flat, you know how it is."

"Course I do, Felicia," Elizaveta said with a vicious smile. She turned the force of her sharp, tiny canines and the attention of her heavy-looking frying pan on the two newcomers, who were standing a safe distance away in the back of the theatre. "Just like I _know how it is_ when I saw you pedaling up with that self-same bicycle, or I _know how it is _when you skip rehearsal for a week and _then_ skip every other Friday due to 'personal business' and are _still_ not off-book –"

"I thought you knew what you were doing…" Toris moaned quietly to Felicia.

"Whatever gave you _that_ idea?" she asked him wryly. She looked slightly desperate. Toris … kinda wanted to help her.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Elizaveta…" Toris said, stepping forward. "The delay was my fault. Someone stole my bike and Felicia offered to give me a ride – it took so much longer because I was sitting on her handlebars."

Now that he thought about it, _he_ should have been the one pedaling; he shouldn't have made a girl do it. But she hadn't seemed to have any trouble…

Elizaveta was suddenly focused on him, and she looked… gleeful. The expression was absolutely terrifying.

"Ah, Toris. Well, since this is your first infraction, I guess we will let it slide…" The 'we' might have been a slip of the tongue, but with the way that she was fondling that frying pan, Toris wasn't sure. "I fully expect timeliness for _every_ rehearsal from now on, do I make myself clear? After all, early is on time –"

At this, every single solitary person in the theatre mumbled the words along with her. "On time is late, and late is unacceptable!"

The effect was sufficiently creepy.

She clapped her hand to her pan, producing a gonging noise. Everyone in the theatre turned to look at her; a few more people poked their heads out from the legs in the wings. "Now that everyone is here, I hereby call this rehearsal to order! We're practicing from the top – and _everyone_ is off-book; there are only three weeks until opening! Anyone not needed on stage, go check in with Toris," she gestured to the boy with her pan. "He's our new stage manager. Toris – got your script?"

The boy ducked his head, upset that all the attention was suddenly swung at him. He had volunteered for Stage Crew for a _reason_, and that reason pretty much involved not getting stared at. Still, he nodded, obediently pulling a three-ring binder from his book bag with his script, contact list, and extra paper fastened neatly inside.

"Good work, soldier," Elizaveta barked. "Now, places for the top of the show and so help me if I hear talking backstage or in the audience _I'M BASHING HEADS_."

No one seemed particularly scared. Felicia pecked Toris on the cheek. "I'm gonna go back and check if my costume is ready. Don't die out here, kay?" She didn't wait for an answer.

Toris sat down in one of the theatre seats, head spinning. _What?_ This (gorgeous, crazy, adorable) girl who he had only just met had suddenly kissed him. Twice. In about five minutes. What on –

"I'm Oberon," said a grumpy voice by Toris' elbow. He looked up to see a short British man, one of the arguing actors, glaring down at him from beneath a set of _impressive_ eyebrows. "Arthur Kirkland."

Toris blinked, scrabbling for his pencil. He looked down his list of actors, checking Arthur's name off under the slot for today's date. Part of his duty was attendance for the rest of the practices, Elizaveta had told him.

"Can I have your phone-number?" he asked, finding room to pencil it onto the list.

"Hey, hey, hey, this one's mine!" announced a guffawing, inappropriately loud voice. A blur of blonde hair and heavy limbs and too-big features stumbled into their row, tripping to catch itself with an arm around Arthur's shoulders. "Alfred Jones, Bottom. Pleased to meet'cha and all that, but stay away from my boyfriend."

"I'm no one's property, you git, and he was asking for my number so that he can put it down on the contact list," Arthur snapped. "Are you sure that you graduated high school, you ignoramous?"

"Aww, Artie, you're just being mean because you don't wanna admit that I rescued you from a potential molester–"

Toris watched the proceedings with wide eyes, wondering if he'd get a chance to ask Alfred for _his_ number, or even if that was a good idea. A warm weight snaked itself around his neck from the other side, and he squeaked, looking up into the smouldering blue eyes of the third member of the arguing actors that he had seen earlier.

"Francis Bonnefoy, also known as Francis Flute, _pleased_ to make your acquaintance," the man purred.

"R-right. Um." Toris marked the name, but before he had even finished the "x", Francis had plucked the pencil from his fingers, scrawling his number across the top of the page.

"That's for you, _cher_," he said, pinching Toris' cheek.

"Like, seriously, can you stop flirting with _everything_ that moves?" demanded a very familiar, and very _welcome_ voice. Felicia stood aisle, resplendent and in full costume. Toris blinked, taking a deep breath.

She was in a beautiful turquoise gown, simple and floor-length and embroidered across the top with sequins. It was topped with a flowing cape that attached around the shoulders and on thin bracelets to her wrist, and on her head she was wearing a gilded crown of twisted wire.

"Well, well, well," said Francis appreciatively. "I guess I'm not the only one who looks good in a dress."

"Go jump in, like, a pond and ruin your hair, you jerk," said Felicia, sticking her tongue out. Francis sniffed, bowing deeply to Toris and allowing himself to be dragged away by the (still-bickering) Alfred and Arthur. Toris had not torn his eyes away from Felicia.

"Well, you know that I'm here," Felicia said, sitting next to him. She suddenly seemed nervous, and was twisting a strand of hair in her fingers. "I'm, like, Titania in case you didn't notice. But whatever."

"I… I need your number…" Toris said, offering her the pencil.

She smiled at him, a little devious, a little excited. "Well, then. If you put it _that_ way." She gave him the pencil back, though, and pulled a little pink gel pen out of her… well, out of her bra, actually, but Toris pretended he hadn't seen that. She scrawled her number on the paper, then again on his arm.

"Don't wash it off," she said, smirking and whispering in his ear. "You might need it."

Toris gaped.

As suddenly as she had leaned forward, though, she was back, safely in her own seat, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "I… well, since you're new, how about I … like, um… tell you who is who and stuff. My scene isn't for a bit." Toris nodded quickly, and they sat back to watch the actors rehearse.

Felicia was good about pointing out most of the characters. "Some of them, are like, gen-bent and stuff. We have a lot of guys who wanna try out. And they're pretty good at Shakespeare – especially that Arthur dude, but he's majoring in Brit Lit, so whaddya expect, right? Our 'lovers' are… umm, Gilbert as Demetrius –" she pointed to the albino kid who had magically revived himself from his assault at Elizaveta's hands. "Mei as Helena –" a short girl from the Asian group. "Ivan as Lysander –" the frighteningly tall Slavic man. "And Yao as Hermia." The androgynous Asian. "He totally didn't wanna be a girl, but he's just gonna have to suck it up because he looks sooo cute in his toga-thing." Felicia grinned.

She was really good company, and Toris found himself with his eyes glued to her when she was on stage, too, surrounded though she was by a frightening number of male faeries. At least the male Puck was traditional – it was a cheery Spaniard named Antonio who was too spaced out to play much of a sprite.

Practice lasted until six o'clock that night – Elizaveta wanted to go longer, but the rest of the cast wasn't going to put up with that. Between Alfred's yowls of hunger, Gilbert's screeches of how 'awesome' people should not be kept against their will, and a general feeling of utter evil radiating from Ivan's direction, she was outvoted and flounced off in a huff to sulk somewhere.

Felicia made her way over to Toris. "Come on, you need a ride home, right? Feliciano says we can ride in his van. I totally don't wanna bike home, passenger or no passenger."

Toris nodded. "Yeah, sure. Thanks. Man… I'm really sunk without a bike…" Felicia patted his shoulder, then grabbed his arm to drag him over to the little brunette who had been rolling around on stage with the big stagehand before practice.

"Ve, ciao!" the kid greeted. "Nice to meet you – I forgot to check in. I'm a fairy - Feliciano, but everyone gets me confused with Fel – um, Felicia, so… you can call me something else! Ludwig calls me Italia –"

"Because that is how you introduced yourself," the stagehand, presumably Ludwig, grumbled.

"I didn't know any English!"

"Yelling the name of your country and waving a white flag isn't going to get you anywhere, no matter where you are; I don't care _what_ language you speak!" he roared. Toris flinched, but the Italian only giggled and snuggled close to the big brute.

"Ve~, Ludwig is so cute when he's frustrated. Well, if you don't like that, you can call me Veneziano. It's my middle name." He pouted. "Mama thought it was funny, cuz my names rhyme kinda. Now, you wanted a ride back to campus?"

Toris nodded eagerly, at a bit of a loss as to what else to do. "Thanks a lot; I really appreciate it."

"No problema! My brother can also help get you a bike, you know," Veneziano offered. "He's got all sorts of connections."

"Stop volunteering me for things!" a voice barked. It was another brunette, strikingly similar to It but for a dark and dangerous frown across his features. He was being felt-up (er, followed…) by Antonio.

"Aww, Lovi, don't get mad~," Antonio cajoled happily. "If you don't like it, you don't have to be here. You're not in the play or anything.

"Sh-shut up. I'm just here to make sure a sandbag doesn't fall on you or something."

"Silly Lovino, always worrying," Antonio cooed at him.

Toris raised his eyebrows at Felicia. She wiggled her own back at him, comically, a look that assured them that _"Yes, they are together. Even if it doesn't look like it."_

"I saw that, _finocchio_," Lovino growled. Felicia didn't seem offended, but Toris prickled a little, realizing the young man was probably insulting her.

"Alright, are we all ready?" asked Veniziano happily. He twirled a set of keys on his fingers. "_Andiamo!_" And then he took off running, out of the theatre, giggling and shouting "_Retreat!_" on his way to the parking lot.

The van was… an actual van. Toris had been expecting – well, a minivan. Or something. Something with seats, yeah, that would have been nice. But no. The vehicle was your standard pedophile-white delivery van, emblazoned on the side with an advertisement for _Vargas' Pizza, Pasta, and Family! _restaurant which Veneziano explained that his grandfather owned. He proudly threw open the doors, ushering everyone inside. Antonio bounded in happily, followed by Ludwig and Felicia, seeming used to it. Felicia had grabbed her bike, hoisted it, and tossed it mercilessly against the van bed. Lovino brushed past all of them, throwing open the front door and sitting grumpily in the passenger seat.

"Come on, come on, get in!" Felicia beckoned. "It's not gonna bite.

Toris grimaced. There were no seatbelts. There were no _seats_. Surely this wasn't legal.

But Felicia was holding out one smooth, slender hand and Toris couldn't do anything but take it. It was warm and bigger than he expected and somehow, that suited Toris just fine. She didn't seem like the kind of "so-dainty-you'll-break-her" type anyway.

The truck smelled like flour and eggs and oregano and it made Toris hungry. But maybe that was because they – Ludwig, Felicia, Antonio, and he – were packed in all snuggly and he was very much pressed up against Felicia's side.

But he decided he wasn't going to think about that.

He didn't have to work very hard to distract himself, though – without warning, the engine fired up and Veneziano peeled out of the drive with the sharpest turn Toris had _ever_ had the misfortune of living through, and that was only the beginning.

The two-mile ride to campus was the longest of Toris' life. In the fleeting images glimpsed through the front window, he counted at _least_ three red lights they had run, as well as one old lady that they had to swerve in order to save. He felt himself sliding across the van, rattling like a dried seed pod, flung first into the giggling mass that was Antonio and then into the hard, unforgiving shoulder of Ludwig.

And then he found himself very much in Felicia's lap.

Sure, the car was still swerving, but for the briefest of seconds, the entire world slowed down to a tiny pinpoint – Toris. Was sitting. In Felicia's lap.

He was pressed up against her chest and he could feel the warmth of her legs beneath him through the fabric of her dress. Maybe something was off about the way he was sitting and the way that she felt beneath him and for some reason he expected something _different_ but it still felt _amazing_ and he was so close to her face that he could see her blissed-out expression as it slowly turned to – panic?

And then he found himself sprawled on the floor of the van as it started to slow. He'd been very firmly pushed there by Felicia herself, who looked like she was going to have a heart attack.

Toris got the distinct feeling that he'd Done Something Wrong.

"We're here!" Veneziano said happily from the front seat. "We're at campus! You can all get out now – I need to get the van back to Nonno in twenty minutes, si?"

Toris scrambled to his feet, swaying a little in belated sympathy to the previous swaying of the vehicle, feeling something like a sailor on land after a long journey. He was seasick enough. He fumbled with the bar to the back doors until Ludwig or Antonio – he couldn't tell which, he decided he wasn't thinking straight – took pity on him and let him out.

Felicia hopped down beside him, letting Ludwig hand her the beach cruiser. Her face was flushed pink and she refused to meet Toris' eyes. She smiled and thanked Veneziano, laughed at something Antonio said to her, and got on the bike.

"I'll see you all at practice tomorrow, yeah?" she said, addressing no one in particular.

"If I can get there…" Toris said, realizing again how screwed he was without transportation.

"Oh, stop fucking whining, I _said_ I'd help you," Romano snapped from the front seat. Toris didn't remind him that he did _not_ agree to help, just verbally lambasted his brother for volunteering him.

"T-thanks, that's very nice –"

"Aww, Lovi, that's such a sweet thing to say!" Antonio cooed, trying to wiggle through the space between the front seats in order to be able to hug Romano. In the swearing and struggle that followed, Felicia simply gave everyone a half-wave and… just biked away.

Toris noticed her go, and wondered what he did wrong. Her fingers had been shaking on her handlebars.

* * *

><p>"<em>You<em> had a pretty good day," Eduard conjectured almost the moment that Toris open the door. He was curled in the far corner of one of the two beds in their shared dorm room, propped up on a pillow and a humming laptop on his lap, his glasses reflecting blue light.

Toris blinked, hefting his bag of schoolwork onto the desk chair on his side of the room.

"What do you mean –" Toris began, before realizing that Eduard was on Skype, his headset on, and was definitely _not_ talking to him.

"Oh, hi Toris," Eduard said, looking up briefly to smile at his roommate. He turned the computer around so that Toris was looking at a video feed on the computer. "Say hi to Tino."

"Hey," Toris greeted, working up a smile for Eduard's friend. "How's the honeymoon?"

Tino, a small blonde boy, still not grown out of his gawky, angular teenaged body, smiled broadly back at him through the screen, his voice coming out distorted and tinny through the laptop speakers. "Wonderful! Helsinki is so pretty, and Be is taking me to Stockholm next, before we head back home!"

Toris nodded. "That sounds like fun. I'm glad you guys are having a good time. Say hello to Berwald for me."

Tino nodded enthusiastically before Eduard turned him back around and resumed their previous conversation, mostly lamenting the unfair fact that Tino had managed to secure leave from classes for the two weeks that the honeymoon lasted. Toris turned back to his bed, pulling out his Russian Literature book and trying to start his homework. He didn't get very far.

_So, Lietuva, I'm totally starving –_

_- Come on, get in! –_

_Don't wash it off, you might need it. _

Toris looked down at his arm, staring at the pink lines of gel pen written there. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, carefully programming them into his contacts. Then he turned his attention to stare at the phone, wondering if he _did_ need it, if that's what Felicia had meant, giving him her number – to call her, even though… even though it was late and maybe that would make him come off like a stalker and –

"You gonna call her?"

At first, Toris thought that Eduard was still skyping with Tino, but as he turned he saw that the earphones were off and the computer snapped shut.

"H-huh?" Toris asked unsteadily.

"The girl, who apparently wrote her number on your arm. You gonna call her?" Eduard pressed.

Toris gaped. "How did you know –"

"Toris, for the last time. It's pink gel pen. _On your arm_. Of course it's a woman," Eduard told him matter-of-factly. "And now I'm just wondering whether you're going to man up and get a hold of this chick or what."

"I- um – I just – I just met her!" Toris managed to squeeze out, cursing his ineloquence. Usually he could express himself just fine, but now his brain was almost shorted out, simply by the events of a (surprisingly long) day.

Eduard shrugged. "Okay, you aren't gonna man up. Fine by me, but you'll regret it." He stood up, stretching. "How was your first day at the theatre?"

"… odd…" Toris said, knowing there was not a more descriptive adjective for it. Perhaps there wasn't a proper adjective for it at all.

Eduard smiled. "Oh, good, you had fun. Well, that's nice. Listen, I'm going downstairs to play DnD with a few of the guys – don't roll your eyes, it's my one vice!" he protested good-naturedly in response to Toris' mock-exasperated look. "Have fun, do your homework, and _call that girl_. Dude, she wrote. Her number. On your arm."

"Yeah, I kinda got it," Toris told him with a soft grin. "I'll see."

Eduard let out a little, puffing laugh, and hooked his laptop under his arm like it belonged there. "See you later."

"You too."

Toris didn't get any homework done that night. He spend most of his time, staring at his phone, waiting for it to suddenly read his mind and move, dial on its own. When it became clear that wasn't happening, Toris sighed and changed into his pajamas.

Maybe he was dreaming all of this. Maybe he'd wake up and all of it would be gone.

He still wondered why Felicia's hands were shaking, but he fell asleep to the memory of the feel of her lips against his.

* * *

><p>The next morning Toris was running significantly less late than he had been the morning before – he even had time for breakfast – when he bustled out of his dorm room -<p>

- and then let out a shriek as something large and metal and shiny fell in through the door. For a moment, he had a nightmare vision of some kind of mafia movie, a dead horse in the hallway, falling through his door onto him but of course horses weren't made of metal…

When Toris was finally able to breathe normally and his heart was not threatening to choke him, he took a closer look and realized the mysterious object was a silver bicycle.

There was a piece of paper taped to it. Two very distinct handwritings were looped across the paper. The first was large and slightly feminine.

_I hope you like it~! Love, Veniziano_

The other was slanted and scratchy, only two words.

_Fuck you_

That one was Lovino's. The Italian brothers had gotten him a bike. _Already_.

It was stolen. Toris was positive that it was stolen. He rode it to Russian Lit anyway because it beat the hell out of walking.

The morning felt long to him, and not only because his professor was had adopted his _I'm gonna speak so slowly that you'll hate Tolstoy forever_ lecture voice. He watched the clock anxiously, waiting for 3:30 to roll around so he could be back in the theatre, doing his job and watching practice and, most of all, seeing Felicia.

Class let out at 12:35 and when Toris walked out into the sunlight, he was greeted by the sight of his shiny new bike and a bright pink beach cruiser beside it. Beside _that_ was a blonde girl with a box in one hand a shy smile across her face.

Heart in throat, Toris jogged down the steps of the lecture hall and stood across from her. "Felicia?" he asked in disbelief. "What're you doing here?"

Felicia went an interesting shade of pink and stared down at her platform sandals. She held out the box towards him. It said something in Polish he didn't actually understand and was covered in pictures of things that looked vaguely like Pocky.

"Just take the paluski, damn it," she muttered. For the first time since Toris had met her, she looked shy. Toris really wanted to… well, actually, hug her and never let her go. Protect her from whatever she was self-conscious about.

Toris was kind of at a point where he really had no idea what to do. He had dated exactly one girl, Samantha Green, for a month in seventh grade. He just… hadn't ever gotten a girlfriend. Didn't want one. Was kind of indifferent.

But _this_ girl… just shoved cookies into his hand and looked like she was going to explode from embarrassment and gave him a ride for two miles on her handlebars the day before and so Toris stepped in and kissed her in front of all the kids on the lecture steps.

She tasted like cookies.

And then he was pushed away so hard he tripped over the bike rack.

"Well, that _was_ gonna be my way to ask you to, like, go out with me, but if you're gonna do shit like that in public - !" she whined. She was trying to suppress a smile and failing. She was still adorably pink.

"Isn't it supposed to be me asking _you_ out?" Toris asked, a goofy grin on his face, sprawled across his toppled bike.

Felicia smiled wickedly. "That's just not my style, Lietuva."

It was the beginning of something wonderful, Toris thought, as he stood up and felt the bruises on his back from the metal of the racks. He hopped on his new bicycle and raced Felicia all the way to the Dining Hall. He lost pitifully.

* * *

><p><strong>TO BE CONTINUED, I ASSURE YOU.<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

The next week and a half had Toris in an absolute daze. He met Felicia whenever he could, and they would just… be together. They ate in the Dining Hall, went to practice together, and made out in the green room after everyone had left.

(Actually, they found Elizaveta "sleeping" in the costume closet the second time they did that, and resolved to check the room thoroughly the next time)

Toris did notice that Felicia would always draw away if he put his hands on her too much. Not that he put his hands on her a lot. He wasn't sure _what_ to do with his hands – he was kind of a beginner at this, all told.

Felicia wasn't a beginner, though. She had her fingers stroking down his sides, playing in his hair, on warm palm pressed against his thigh when they kissed. But whenever Toris tried to reciprocate – sliding his hands down just to her hips so he could hold her to him – she flinched a little and gave him a soft, apologetic smile and a _not yet_ orsimply _I have to go. _

It wasn't as if Toris minded, he guessed. It wasn't as if he were a pervert. Most guys would probably want to touch her boobs, he thought sometimes. He was content just to be with Felicia, if that were what she wanted. He'd go slow. That would be okay.

One day, they biked to the city park with the duck pond and lay in the half-dead autumn-grass and smelled the late summer flowers and held hands while they watched the clouds. Toris never thought that watching clouds would be something that he might enjoy, but… well, it was Felicia, and it was autumn, and he felt on fire.

The next day was Saturday. Toris fully intended to sleep until he was dead – or at least until the five pm rehearsal that Elizaveta had forced on everyone. Hell week would start… next week, actually …. And Toris had hoped to get some sleep before the round of tech rehearsals, dress rehearsals, and then late show nights kept him up and away from homework.

He didn't get to sleep past 8:30 in the morning.

Eduard was up, but he had an incomprehensible sleep cycle and was always careful to be very quiet on the mornings that he was up before Toris. So, it wasn't Eduard who woke him up, or rather, it was not his _fault_.

The smirk he had on his face was his fault though. Definitely.

Toris was sprawled on top of his blankets in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. A cold snap in October had been followed with an eerily warm patch now, in November, and the entire building had already switched the air system over to heating in preparation for winter, so Toris had been absolutely burning up the night before.

It was only a matter of Eduard pulling out a water bottle from their mini-fridge and placing it against Toris' stomach to wake him.

" Kales vaikas - Ciupe bybi -!" Toris swore, coming out of a pleasant dream of eagles and flying high above rye fields in a place he didn't know.

Eduard didn't look even remotely chastised. He just smiled knowingly. "I'd keep the swearing down to a minimum if I were you," he told Toris. "Someone impressionable and ladylike might hear them and be scarred. You know, if she wasn't already scarred by the fact you're almost totally naked."

And then, Toris became aware of Felicia standing in the door to dorm room. She was grinning like she owned the world and was gonna make sure everyone knew it, too.

"Nice briefs, big boy," she whistled, examining her nails and leaning against the door-jamb.

"Eep!" Toris squeaked in a very manly way. He dove under his covers, keeping up a litany of curses towards Eduard and doors and unfortunate days to wear Spiderman briefs to bed.

Felicia started laughing, so hard she had to hold onto the wall for support. Eduard had some shit-eating grin plastered all over his face. Toris hated his life.

"Get out…" he moaned. "Let me get dressed and collect what is left of my dignity. Why are you here, anyway?"

"Hmph," hummed Felicia, inspecting a nail and trying to calm her giggles. "What a way to talk to the girlfriend who wanted to take you out to breakfast. You know, we haven't been on a _real_ date yet. Sad, isn't it?"

"Mnghph…" Toris groaned from beneath the covers.

"Alright, alright, I'm leaving. But don't bitch at me – bitch at your roommate for opening the door with you all on display like that," she said cheekily. "Not that I mind much." There was the sound of the door closing. Still, Toris waited a long minute before peeking out from beneath his covers, fully intending on tackling Eduard for his indiscretion.

Sneaky bastard, he'd slipped out with Felicia.

Groaning piteously, Toris dragged himself out of bed, and dressed hastily, wondering if he could still manage a bit of damage control. He definitely changed his underwear. Grey boxers, now _that_ was manly. He tripped out the door some minutes later, to find Felicia in the hallway, rocking back and forth on her heels – heeled boots, a patterned miniskirt, long jacket, not that Toris was ogling her or anything – and staring at the floor. Eduard was next to her, trying to make conversation with his oblivious sense of efficiency.

"… and I definitely think Toris is happier," he was saying.

"Mmm hmm…" Felicia might have mumbled something that translated to actual words, but it was so low and truncated Toris couldn't make it out.

It was kind of adorable, how shy she was when she didn't know people. For all her bluster and show in front of the other actors or her tight group of friends, when she was with someone she was not well acquainted with, she was faintly ridiculous – all averted eyes and one-word answers and a rather endearing pink flush.

He stood in the doorway and watched for a moment, feeling a little vindictive, but he quickly put Felicia out of her misery, striding up and putting an arm around her shoulders.

"I think I've earned my breakfast," he said with a rueful little smile. Eduard couldn't even be bothered to hold back a snicker.

"I think I'll leave you to it," he smiled, disappearing down the hallway with a practiced easiness.

Toris closed his eyes and leaned his head on the hallway wall. "Can we pretend this never happened?"

"Not a chance, superman," Felicia told him. "Now come on, we're going to Gdansk."

Toris was very, very confused by that statement.

"Gdansk" turned out to be the name of a little hole-in-the-wall café a few blocks away from the Moonshine Theatre, serving heavy breads and strong tea and cold meats. Toris spent the meal listening to Felicia tell him he'd better not have any plans for today and then laying out her own agenda for exactly what they were going to do. He didn't mind, not really, although he wasn't pleased when Felicia refused to let him pay the bill, telling him on no uncertain terms that she said she was gonna "take him out", which meant it was _her_ responsibility.

"I'm going to get you back for his," he promised huffily when she dragged him out of the café by the wrist.

"I look forward to it," she assured him. "So. My agenda. We're getting on a bus, capisce? Gotta get out of the city sometimes. Seriously. I feel like I'm gonna suffocate."

The caught the next bus out of town, loading their bikes on the rack in back. Felicia spent the whole ride glued to the window as they took the bridge out of town, watching as the highway turned into just a two-lane thoroughfare that wound between green, forested hills. Felicia pulled the cord and disembarked in front of a tiny little strawberry stand, which she ransacked for bags of berries. Then, she got on her bike and took a trail through the trees behind the stand that was barely visible at all. Toris was fairly certain that a beach cruiser should not logically be able to rough it over what was quickly becoming a bumpy ride – even his new mountain bike wasn't faring too well – but she took the trail with the poise that accompanied everything she did, even balancing a grocery bag of strawberries over the handles as she went.

"Umm… Felicia…?" Toris mumbled as they began to bike through the woods. "Are you going to tell me where we are going?"

"Nope."

"Did you mean to drag me all the way out here so I can't find my way back on my own?"

"Yep. Don't want you running away, you know."

She giggled at him and pedaled harder, and Toris was hard-pressed to keep up.

Eventually, though, she _did_ begin to slow. Toris wondered if she was getting tired, but soon it was apparent that she'd only slowed because they had finally arrived.

"Tadaaa," she said quietly, slipping off the bike.

It was a field, a vast, golden, empty field of weeds and grass and thick vegetation that looked soft and shone in the midday sun. It was oddly beautiful, and oddly comforting, huge and surrounded completely by trees. Over on the far edge was a dilapidated old barn, grey with age and skeletal with missing planks.

They weren't _that_ far outside the city, Toris thought, and wondered how on earth he had encountered another world. He seemed to be doing that a lot, with Felicia. She calmly lead him places he'd never gone before, and he certainly could not have done that without her help. And her persistence. Her manic, manic persistence.

Without much preamble, Felicia plopped down on the golden vegetation, setting the berries next to her and immediately digging in. She gestured to Toris to sit down beside her. "Come on, eat. These things, are like, totally organic. Plus they're fruit, so they're actually good for you."

So he did as he was told, sat, and they ate strawberries until the juice ran down both of their arms and they were left full and happy and just staring at the clouds again, sticky fingers all tangled up and heads close together.

"How'd you know this was out here?" Toris asked.

He felt Felicia shrug next to him. "I didn't. I knew there was a trail behind the berry stand and I figured we'd follow it until we found something cool. And I guess we did."

Toris couldn't help but agree.

He smiled, almost nervously, then turned over and placed a small, gentle kiss to the side of Felicia's neck; just a touch, and he felt her smile press against his hair.

"I love you," he told her. It was the first time either of them had spoken those words, but Toris knew, easily, that it was true and perfect and he loved Felicia, loved her more than anything. Maybe it had only been two weeks, but… well, they'd held out longer than Romeo and Juliet, hadn't they?

Toris felt her gasp against his scalp, and he couldn't help but tilt his head up to smile at her – she smiled back, full and happy and a little watery. He watched her pretty green eyes for some sign that he'd done the right thing. He wanted reassurance from her.

She laughed and looked straight back at him with the happiest expression in the world, and that was when he rolled over on top of her and kissed the breath out of her.

It started out easy and slow, and they both just tasted the _rightness_ of being with each other, but soon Toris couldn't help but push a little harder, a little deeper. He felt Felicia's fingers tangle in his long hair and heard her breath get sharper as she pressed back and –

"Oh shit, _stop_!" she begged, and suddenly her voice was high-pitched with a genuine fear as she pushed against his chest, panicking, squirming, her eyes blown wide.

Toris immediately backed off, rearing up onto his knees and scooting away quickly, terrified he'd done something horrible and irrevocable. As soon as she could, Felicia flinched away and curled up into herself, bringing her knees to her chest as well as she could in a skirt.

"F-Felicia?" Toris murmured softly, as if she were some animal he was scared of spooking. He reached out for a moment, as if to sooth her, but she shrank even further into herself. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, what did I do -?"

Felicia looked at him with wide eyes, then buried her face in her knees, her muffled voice spitting out curses into the cloth of her skirt. "Shit, _shit_, not like this, _kurwa_, oh god – Liet!" She lifted her head. "Liet… I'm sorry. I didn't… I didn't mean to freak out on you."

Toris blinked at her, trying to understand. "Felicia, what's going on?" Something was wrong – _obviously_ something was wrong – and a million horrible scenarios rocketed through his head. Had she been hurt in the past; abused? Why was she pushing him away?

Felicia shook her head. Her eyes were clear and dark and shiny and the skin around them was pink and puffy. "I… I don't think I can tell you. Not like this – not now."

Toris knew he shouldn't pry. That was the last thing that Felicia needed, not with the way her arms were shaking and her fingers twitching against her knees. But he had to know.

"Felicia, you have to tell me." He crawled closer to her, trying just to hold her hand, reassure her. She didn't understand, though, was startled, trying to scramble further backwards, but she was off-balance and ended up sprawling on her back in the field and then Toris saw it and his brain shut down.

Felicia was staring at him, obviously wondering at the look of horror on his face; then she looked down at her lap, and her mouth opened in a wide, frightened "o".

"Liet, I'm sorry…" she whispered, trying to hide the obvious, obscene bulge that a girl's skirt should definitely not have.

It made sense, now; why she had pushed Toris off her lap when they'd fallen together in Veneziano's truck, why she was scared of letting him touch her, the way she was always so strong and her hands were so broad and she could pedal a bike with him on her handlebars.

She was not a she at all. She was a "he".

Toris did nothing but stare.

"Liet," he said, scrambling to his knees, reaching out to touch him and then stopping and drawing back. "Say something."

"Who are you – tell me who you are," Toris said in a daze, sure he wasn't hearing right. He was sure he had just been tricked, by the light and the magic of the afternoon. This wasn't…

Felicia reached out and grabbed Toris' hand. Toris didn't pull away, but he didn't squeeze back.

"My name is Feliks Łukasiewicz, and I never meant for this to happen."

His voice was not different. His hands did not feel different. He looked no different. This was the girl that Toris had fallen – the boy that Toris had – this was –

"Why?"

"Toris, maybe we should go somewhere else, talk about this later. I know this is too much for you right now, I can see it in your face –"

"Tell me now." Toris' voice did not grow any more demanding, flat and tired. "Just let me know, why?"

Feliks hung his head. "I don't know, Liet, really, I don't. I just… I've always liked skirts. I just… I like them. I do it. It's fun."

"So are you a girl? Are you… a transsexual? I can't … I don't understand."

Feliks shook his head violently. "No! No, Toris, I am a guy. I'm a male and everything I did to make you think I was a girl, was…" he trailed off, biting his lip, his voice strangling off into quiet. "It was a lie. I lied."

Obviously. Toris stayed quiet.

"It's just – it's easier if they think I'm a girl. A gay boy in skirts, that's an invitation to be killed, in some places. But if I'm just a girl, just another pretty thing in heels, it's alright. I can wear what I want and I can flirt with who I want –"

" – You flirt with straight men, Feliks. Feliks, you flirted with _me._"

Toris couldn't even bring himself to be angry. He didn't think it was happening. It was all a dream, and elaborate dream that he could talk himself out of.

"I love you…" Feliks told him in a small voice. "All I wanted was to be able to walk around and love you."

That made Toris' chest hurt a lot.

"We are going to be late for practice," Toris said dully. He stood and grabbed the plastic bag and the remains of their strawberries.

Feliks moved cautiously to his feet, smoothing his skirt and checking his hair. "Yeah."

Toris didn't even bother to wonder about the sudden hopelessness in his voice.

* * *

><p>The ride back to the highway was achingly quiet, waiting for a bus to zoom by even more so. Felicia – goddammitall, <em>Feliks<em> – was pointedly not looking at him, scanning the road for signs of a bus or staring at his nails or fiddling with his skirt and Toris just couldn't couldn't couldn't take it.

Some boy was walking around as a girl. As a _girl_. Toris hadn't known; he hadn't even guessed.

He looked so sad…

Toris wondered how it had gotten that far. How could anyone feel like they had to act like someone that they weren't, just to avoid getting _hurt_? If Feliks was telling the truth – and god help him, Toris trusted him still – he was just trying to wear what he wanted and without anyone trying to hurt him.

Except… well, except Feliks wasn't acting like someone he wasn't, not even now. He was still sitting with is back straight and his legs crossed and his hair perfect and his mouth all pouty and nervous and he wasn't any different. Only, he was a boy.

_I fell in love with this girl…_ Toris thought hopelessly as a bus finally pulled up.

Feliks went in first, swiping his bus pass and swaggering to a seat like he owned the bus. Walked like he always did, even if Toris could see the hurt and fear in his eyes.

Toris could have sat anywhere else on that stupid bus. He could have sat next to the young woman with the groceries or the sleeping old guy or on any of the empty benches or even _stood_, but he didn't. He sat down right next to Feliks and he thought:

_No. I fell in love with this _person_._

Feliks looked up in base panic as Toris sat next to him, then obviously tried to calm his expression. Then, he quickly looked away, staring out the window as the city approached them.

"I'm just sorry, Toris…" he said quietly. "I can't say much more than that."

"Feliks…" Toris said equally quietly. He reached out and put a hand on Feliks' shoulder. Feliks flinched, but he pushed back into it, almost subconsciously following Toris' touch. "Feliks, you know I like girls."

Feliks sighed, nodded, didn't turn around.

"But Feliks, I love _you_."

This time, Feliks _did_ turn around, so fast Toris could swear he gave himself whiplash. "What –"

"You scared the _crap_ out of me," Toris said seriously. "And I'd never say this about another living soul, but I swear to everything, Feliks, wear skirts, shorts, a stupid black tux, I don't _care_, as long as you continue to be the person I fell in love with. And… and that's the truth. I'll figure out how to deal with the rest of it eventually. I think."

Feliks' smile would never cease to amaze him, Toris decided. It was always so wide and perfect and utterly carefree. He felt soft hands on his cheeks, bringing his face up so Feliks could look at him.

"Don't freak out, okay? _You_ have to deal with nothing. _We_ can figure it out together, right?"

Toris nodded and summoned up a tiny, wet smile, before kissing Feliks soundly on the bus in front of everyone and not feeling even the slightest bit disgusted that he was kissing a boy.

* * *

><p>Practice was a whirlwind of skipped lines and one very, very irritated director whose frying pan whistled through the air in a quite disconcerting manner. Toris was set on prompting duty as he sat beside her, trying to work out the preliminaries of where tech cues were supposed to go.<p>

Feliks was dropping lines _everywhere_.

Toris could _see_ the tension in Lizzie's shoulders snap, and tried to distract her, but before he could get a word out, she marched up to the stage and _slammed_ her pan down on top of it.

"Felicia!" she barked. "What in the name of _Budapest_ has gotten into you?"

Feliks' face got all hot and red, but he glowered down at Elizaveta as if he wasn't completely cowed by her, and Toris was impressed all over again. He made a few token excuses, then Lizzie got distracted by Gilbert's loud snoring from the wings and he was saved.

By the end of the marathon practice, pretty much everyone was exhausted and irritable and feeling not so good about tech rehearsal tomorrow _at all_, Toris included. Of course, that could simply be jitters from the fact that during tech rehearsal, everything fell to _him._ Once the cues were in place, he had control over the entire cast – told them where to go and what to do and he didn't really like that bit at all. He preferred his time up in the box, calling cues and pretending he was invisible.

Feliks grabbed his hand as they were leaving. They ended up walking their bikes back to campus and holding hands the whole way. As Veneziano drove by, he wolf-whistled at them and Toris was almost able to hold down a blush.

* * *

><p>The next morning – which wisely involved Toris firmly under the sheets and in acceptable underwear – was broken with a call to his cell. Toris considered letting it ring, just because it was making Eduard grumble and moan in his sleep, and really, Toris hadn't forgiven him. But then he realized his ringtone was too annoying even for <em>him<em> and picked it up.

It was Feliks.

"Wanna come back to my place tonight, just for a bit?" he asked.

Toris stuttered, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. "I'd like to, but –"

"I don't mean anything like _that_, like, 'hey baby why don't we get a room'," Feliks said bluntly. "I actually… I want your help with something. Is that cool?"

Toris nodded much more enthusiastically, despite the fact no one could see him. "Of course. Whatever you need."

He could hear Feliks smile. "Cool."

The "something" he needed help with was, apparently, and outfit.

Feliks had gotten lucky enough to rent his own apartment, apparently having some money saved up from modeling jobs he'd held for the last few years. Toris could easily see how someone would want a pretty, androgynous face like Feliks' on all of the front magazine covers, although Feliks insisted it was "def not a biggie" and he "barely got a few shots published".

The apartment was pretty tiny and a little worn, one of the type the college kept aside for students, one whose occupants changed almost by the year. It, however, apparently had fantastic closet space, into which Feliks dived with very little preamble and came out with a few pairs of slacks and a couple button-downs.

"I didn't know you even had boy-clothes," Toris teased, then looked down at his hands, wondering if he shouldn't have said that. Feliks only laughed and tossed his garments on the bed, next to where Toris was nervously perched.

"Yeah, I've got a few. They're just, like, way not comfy. I think girl's clothes even fit _better_, though it's hard to find dresses that can deal with my shoulders."

Toris nodded along like he knew what Feliks meant.

"So… um, why now? With the slacks and stuff?" Toris had a sudden moment of panic – was he forcing Feliks into something he didn't want to do? "If this is about me, I –"

"Eh! Shush!" Feliks said, miming slapping his hands in front of his mouth. "I will not have, like, another word out of you if it involves jumping to conclusions."

Toris shut his mouth dutifully. Instead, he stared at Feliks expectantly, arching an eyebrow.

"Well, if I let _you_ know, I might as well let everyone know," Feliks sighed after a moment. "That way, you know, we can all be on the same page or whatever. I know you're pissed that I lied to you."

Well, Toris _was_, but he wasn't going to say it.

"And everyone else probably would be, too, but I guess I'm tired of lying…"

Toris nodded quietly. "But… Feliks, aren't you worried?"

"I thought you took anxiety medication," Feliks pointed out. "So you can, like, _not_ get anxious about stuff."

"Wasn't the reason that you started pretending to be a girl in the first place so that you wouldn't get hurt?" Toris continued, staring at the clothing on the bed nervously.

He almost missed the flash in Feliks' green eyes. "That was almost five years ago, babe. I take _karate_ now."

"Somehow, I'm not reassured…" Toris mumbled.

"Well, I've also got my big, strong boyfriend to protect me, right?" Feliks asked, kneeling beside the bed so he could look up at Toris. Toris stared back, startled. He didn't… he didn't think he'd ever heard Feliks call him his "boyfriend".

"I – oh, god, Feliks – I can try but I – I'm not –"

"Toris? Calm down." Feliks muttered, putting his palms on Toris' knees. "It's a joke – seriously, boy, you need to learn to take a joke. Now listen – I know this is a lot of shit I just dumped on your plate, but you're gonna let _me_ worry about it and _you_ are gonna stand around and look pretty."

Toris shook his head. "I'm your boyfriend. The 'not worrying' thing isn't gonna cut it."

"Then how about this?" Feliks continued. "Veneziano's my cousin, and that big meathead that's always with him? They're dating. Practically married. So if Vene says 'sic em' anyone who bothers me will have Ludwig to deal with. Does _that_ reassure you?"

It didn't, but Toris just nodded and tried to trust Feliks. It was a testament to how far gone he was that the trusting part came altogether too easily.

And then Feliks sat back on his heels all of a sudden, looking slightly panicked. "Oh, _shit_, are you all worried because everyone will know that you're dating a dude? I didn't even think about that – I should have thought of that – geez, Liet, I didn't even ask – because they'll think you're gay and –"

"_Feliks_."

Feliks stopped. He stared up at Toris from his knees and Toris shivered at the panic and care in his face.

Toris took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Doesn't matter what I want," he finally said. "It's up to you. So I'm… I'm gonna stand beside my boyfriend, okay?"

It was that answering smile and that bubbling happiness that Toris had fallen in love with it, anyhow, wasn't it?

* * *

><p>Of course, nothing in the world could keep Toris from worrying about tech rehearsal the next day until he was sick. It was all up to him. All. Up. To. Him. And now he had Feliks to worry about, too.<p>

He had gotten over this – mostly – but every once in a while, Toris couldn't stop his brain from whirling every worst-case-scenario possible and he _couldn't shut it off_.

Eduard wasn't home – it was midnight, but that meant very little, really; Eduard never kept hours that were anything close to regular. Toris was very much alone and had nothing to stop his brain from going going going going –

"…_walk, walk, passion, baby, work it, I'm a free bitch, baby…"_

Toris jolted up in bed, sloughing off the pillows that he'd heaped over his head in a hope to silence the voices in his mind. His phone was ringing, the horrific sound-byte programmed by Eduard for Feliks, one that he simply couldn't figure out how to get off his phone.

Right now, rather than irk him, the sound terrified him, startling him from a spiral that consisted mostly of his own panicked thoughts. In a brief flash of good sense, he realized he should _not_ answer and let Feliks in on his personal consternation. The sense was quickly wiped away by sheer overwhelming need to talk to _someone_.

"H-hello?" Toris mumbled into the phone, clutching it to the side of his head as he hid under the blankets.

"Liet, good, you're still awake," Feliks said cheerfully, sounding relieved. Toris didn't point out that the call may very well have woken him, instead of having been up already. It didn't really matter.

"S-something wrong?" Toris asked, trying to keep his voice under control. Feliks was his biggest worry – what would people say tomorrow, what would they think? Would he really be safe? Could Toris _keep_ him safe?

"Nah. I was just bored and I totally can't sleep."

That wasn't true. Toris could tell. Feliks was worried, too.

Instead of that revelation stressing Toris out even more, it made him strangely calm. He couldn't be strong for himself, maybe, but he could be strong for Feliks. He thought.

"Anyway, I was in class today and the _funniest_ thing happened –" Feliks said, launching into a story that seemed to be about marshmallow fluff and some poor kid in his sociology class. It didn't matter – what mattered was that Feliks stayed on the phone with him as their talk got steadily slower and more garbled and finally, finally, Toris dropped off to sleep, the phone clutched in his hands and his breathing more easy than it had been all night.

"Liet…? Aw, screw you, you fell asleep, didn't you?"

* * *

><p>The next afternoon, Toris sat in a captain's chair between Vash and Ludwig, watching switches blink and computer monitors flash and waiting waiting waiting for Feliks to show up.<p>

"Go ahead without me," he'd said. "Get your tech boys set up and stuff."

Toris now stared at Vash, working the sound board, and Ludwig, quietly fitzing with lights, and knew they needed exactly no help "setting up". So Toris was left to stew in silence as he waited for something to happen.

Elizaveta was what happened, eventually. "Alright, cast, get your butts up on the stage and just face me, and let me inform you _exactly_ what's gonna happen today."

Reluctant, already-bored actors shuffled out into the lights; Elizaveta began to talk even before they all got out on stage. Toris searched the cast frantically for a glimpse of Feliks.

"You will be obedient and quiet and suffer through this shit like the good little soldiers that you are, and if you do, I will reward you by _not_ making you stay for six or seven hours –"

"Holy Scheisse!"

Elizaveta's rant was unceremoniously cut off by – and here, no one was surprised – an exclamation from Gilbert.

Elizaveta leveled a dangerous glare at him. "Did you just _interrupt me?_" she demanded coldly.

For once, though, Gilbert was uncowed. He was, instead, staring at the actor who had just walked on stage.

Yeah, actor. Not actress.

Feliks sashayed onto the stage like he always did, and it somehow didn't clash with his appearance – which was decidedly manly, Toris did admit. He was resplendent in tight slacks and a button-down of eye-smarting teal, artfully unbuttoned to expose enough chest to prove there was no actual cleavage under there. His hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and he hadn't put on any makeup. He stood in the middle of the stage and faced the rest of the cast as if he were challenging them.

"Hey, Gil," he said with a wink.

Gilbert gaped.

"Felicia?" he demanded.

"Feliks," the man in question said casually. Toris could see the tension in his shoulders, anyway.

"Feliks?" Gilbert screeched. The rest of the room was silent. "You're a _dude?_"

That was when Elizaveta finally managed to sneak behind him with her director's notebook and clocked him in the back of the head.

"Yes, he's a dude, didn't you know that?" she ignored his protests, glaring at the rest of the cast. "Can we get back to business now?"

And so Feliks was left standing in the middle of the stage, looking dumbstruck and more than a little put out as Elizaveta began to speak again.

"Anyway! I want everyone from the palace scene in costume and on stage in half an hour –"

"You knew I was a guy?" Feliks interrupted. "Wait, like, since _when_?"

Elizaveta snorted. "Since always. I mean, you're _super_ cute but it was kind of obvious."

Alfred nodded. "Yeah, kinda was."

Feliks swung his focus to Alfred. "You knew, too?"

Alfred, Arthur, and Francis, knotted in a group as always, nodded with varying degrees of interest.

Feliks' gaze swung helplessly over the whole cast, most of whom continued to look bored and vastly unscandalized.

"Why did no one tell me?" Feliks finally demanded, crossing his arms and pouting.

"Well, it's not really a big deal, right?" Feliciano piped up. "You are who you are, right?"

"Because I wanted to see how much you'd make out with your boyfriend if you thought no one cared," Elizaveta volunteered at the same time.

And so Feliks came out to his cast, was whacked in the back of the head with a binder for interrupting Elizaveta _again_, and ended the four-hour practice sincerely disgruntled.

_"So, good night unto you all. _

_Give me your hands, if we be friends, _

_And Robin shall restore amends."_

Antonio's smooth voice rang in Toris' ears as he called for the last spotlight cue and the curtain call music. He sighed in relief and sank happily back into his chair, hearing someone come up behind him and slip a hand into his.

It was Feliks, who had let himself into the tech box without so much as a by-your-leave. Vash and Ludwig glared at him, but he ignored them and plopped down on Toris' lap.

"That was so not fun," he complained. "I can't believe everyone _knew_."

Toris laughed a little breathlessly. He, for one, was pleased that no more drama had occurred. The drama kids… didn't need any extra.

"And the worst part is I have to walk home!" Feliks continued. "I figured I'd walk here to get out some of the nervous energy and, you know, keep up the illusion by leaving the hot pink bike elsewhere. That was stupid."

Feliks continued to pout as Toris slid him off his lap, standing up and sticking his things into his bag.

"I'll get you home," Toris promised, kissing Feliks' wrinkled nose and feeling carefree.

"How?" Feliks demanded.

* * *

><p>Feliks rode back to his apartment on Toris' handlebars.<p> 


End file.
